


the tide in defiance

by illegible



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Almost PWP?, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Smut, Valentine's Day Fic Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22697899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illegible/pseuds/illegible
Summary: A story of how the moon was swallowed by the sea.Or:Elidibus seeks the Warrior of Light following her victory over Leviathan.
Relationships: Elidibus/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 54
Collections: Valentine's Fic Exchange 2020





	the tide in defiance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TenkeyLess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenkeyLess/gifts).



> Written as part of a Valentine's Day fic exchange! Thank you so much to TenkeyLess for such fantastic prompts, I loved writing this and truly hope you enjoy reading it! ^^ Additional thanks to Januaryblue for giving this a once-over when my brain was fried beyond measure, really helped a lot! <3

She takes a single evening to rest at The Mizzenmast Inn, following Leviathan. Her hair remains caked in brine, her lungs burning faintly after being submerged. Skin scraped raw from scales and deck alike, her ribs so sore it is difficult to stay upright.

The Warrior of Light has faced primals before but under a sky so black with rain it could be mistaken for night; with soldiers, merchants, and families alike fleeing in terror from their city—this felt different. Which was to say nothing for the beast itself.

Leviathan, blue and rippling like the ocean. Sharp and changeable, possessing all the fluid violence of a wave. Coil upon coil, teeth upon teeth. A sublime force with neither pity nor reason.

The Sahagin worship a cruel god.

Her hands tremble as she begins stripping away her gauntlets, her boots. Forced to bend, she hisses between her teeth. Remains still. Waits for the pressure to subside.

She could never have refused this summons. She is the only one proven against such monstrosities. Even so, for a moment Eorzea’s champion finds herself wishing dearly that Hydaelyn had chosen someone else.

The weight of his eyes is something she feels before she sees it, burning into her downturned skull. It takes barely a moment to find him watching. Silent at the corner of her room, white on white against the wall.

“Come to gloat, have you?” asks the Warrior, jaw clenched.

Elidibus does not respond. She pulls herself into an standing position, does not doubt he notes the way her flesh has gone pale and clammy.

“This was _your_ doing,” she says with venom. Rises. Under searing heat she bites back her own voice.

She hears nothing of his approach, impossibly swift for the distance he needs cover.

“Be still,” he says, catching both forearms firmly. The leather of his gloves is soft, their ornamental claws relaxed enough not to tear. Her legs stiffen regardless, rendering support mere courtesy.

“Why are you here?” the Warrior asks, but when he eases her back onto the mattress she allows it. As his palm moves gently, decisively to rest against her torso she flinches.

“Leviathan,” he says evenly, as healing magic (warm, dark, reassuringly dry) radiates from his touch, “was not my doing. A subordinate’s, but not mine.”

“Oh that makes it so much better,” she retorts, relaxing despite herself as the pain eases. “With your approval or were you ignorant?”

A chuckle, soft and empty of offense. “Neither. It was not my place to intervene.”

The Warrior glares.

“But you’ll show yourself afterward for a spell. Just to prove it’s nothing personal.”

“I see you’re catching on,” replies the Emissary, and though his delivery is even she doesn’t miss how his lips quirk. This soon fades as he says, “We are all trapped with our responsibilities. I would not see you suffer if it can be avoided.” 

Something shifts into place inside her, and she breathes deeply. Easily.

A moment passes. 

The Ascian’s expression proves unreadable. 

“…personal though our missions may be,” he continues, “you are merely an instrument with the misfortune of being used. That is no fault of your own.”

“How kind,” the Warrior replies. It sounds more scathing than she intends. A beat, and she softens her tone. “How do you mean, personal?”

He looks up. She cannot see his eyes, shadowed as they are. “Our duty binds us,” he says quietly, fingers flexing against her abdomen as his influence wanes, “just as yours does. We cannot forsake the ones we are sworn to protect.”

Her brow knits. “Zodiark?” She asks. 

This earns only a sigh.

“Zodiark,” Elidibus explains, “magnificent though He my be, is also an instrument. As He knows. As we are.” He pauses. She can feel the heat of his hands despite the barrier between them. “It matters little to our situation since we must continue regardless, but… all we do is for the sake of our own. The star itself. Our actions draw not from malice but necessity.”

“What necessity is there in summoning _primals?”_ demands the Warrior of Light, blue eyes locked to darkness. “In all the death you’ve wrought over the years?”

His touch withdraws.

The Ascian stands.

Thoughtlessly, she reaches for him.

“Elidibus, wai-“

And the Warrior stops herself.

He does not turn, does not retreat.

Slowly, delicately, she finds his hand.

The metal running over his joints proves cooler than the rest.

Without the mask he could almost seem human. 

“Why did you strike Minfilia, before?” she asks softly.

The impression of bone is delicate, graceful. Experimentally, she makes her way to his wrist.

His lips part.

“She meant to detain me. Staying was hardly an option.”

Cautiously, curiously, the Warrior finds an edge separating cloth from skin. When her fingers brush flesh the Emissary twitches slightly, as if he means to escape. Through what appears to be a test of willpower, he stills. Allows the Warrior to ease the glove down his arm.

“She didn’t attack you,” says the eikon-slayer. “You are easily the stronger. You could have fled, or dodged… certainly any of the things I might have managed. What did you think would happen?”

Bit by bit, she exposes him. Finds his skin fair and smooth and unmarked. One fingertip traces him wrist-to-knuckle.

For a moment, he doesn’t move at all.

Then he asks, barely audible, “What are you doing?”

She pauses.

“Does it bother you?”

His mouth opens, as if he is about to speak.

He shuts it again.

“…I couldn’t say,” answers Elidibus. Then, like an echo, “I…”

She remains. Does not take further liberty but peers up at him instead.

“What did you intend tonight?” she murmurs, a coming tide.

The Emissary seems transfixed. It occurs to her that his hands are human as any she’s held, from the youths she’d admired as a refugee in Garlemald’s shadow to the Lominsan rogues flitting down alleyways.

He seems tragically unsuited for violence, in that moment.

“…I should not have come here,” whispers Elidibus. Even so he doesn’t withdraw.

Rain drums against the window behind them. The room is very dim.

Her thumb finds space between the joints of his index and middle finger. Lingers. Begins to rub slowly in and out.

“Tell me,” says the Warrior. “Please. I’d like to know.”

She catches his shiver in her palm.

“A moment of weakness,” says the Ascian. For a while she thinks that’s all he has to offer. Then, scarcely audible, he adds, “I also take my leave when… when circumstances exact a toll. It stuck me how little influence you have in your own fate and in my recklessness I—“

They meet halfway, her grip firm enough to draw him close. To catch his lips.

_Mmph!_

Elidibus stiffens, words muffled in the ambush. She can hear, faintly, breath resonating within his mask.

When she removes herself his stare is clear without seeing it.

He exhales slowly, carefully through his mouth.

“Thank you,” says the Warrior quietly. “I appreciate the gesture.”

There is a moment, as he approaches her in-turn, that he stops. Hesitates as if he stands at the edge of a cliff contemplating what waits below. 

The water is uncertain. Elidibus falls nonetheless.

***

He kisses as if he has forgotten how. Half-familiar movements, coaxing between her teeth like a question.

The Warrior drags his cowl away as he advances, exposing moon-pale hair to her scrutiny. Bound tight, long and tidy. He has her leaning backwards, spine to mattress as he reaches. Bending, starving, halting. As if expecting to be punished for his indulgence.

She hooks her fingers at the front of his robe, drags him down. Hears the gasp before she’s even fixed her legs around his waist. Biting experimentally at his bottom lip she steals deeper. Runs herself along the roof of his mouth.

A moan, so soft she almost misses it. His hands (one concealed, the other exposed) splay on either side of her head for support.

 _“Show me,”_ she whispers into a gap, and the Ascian shudders above her.

“Unwise,” Elidibus croaks, but this does not stop him from seeking her again. With a single hand, she plucks away the mask.

Hyuran, or at least with some resemblance. Above the lips she’s grown familiar with perches an aquiline nose. Brows so fair they are near invisible, irises fairer still. Creases around the eyes to suggest a man of perhaps forty summers.

(She knows, of course, he is far older.)

Flush. Pupils blown wide with want despite every warning he gives.

“You… you brave little fool.”

She tightens her thighs. Elidibus empties his lungs into her as she traps him, pushes up as his elbows buckle as he sinks into her as those pale irises roll back.

His hips spasm and she smiles.

***

This is when she resolves to drown him.

***

Laying one another bare, they acquaint themselves with details.

Elidibus can only taste the sea, her dried blood and sweat soaked into skin with every scar he kisses. Each closed wound maps a body that has existed for but a fraction of his own life. He is hot and wet and urgent and his breath hitches at her mercy.

The Warrior, after dragging smallclothes free with an ankle, rides one leg back and forth against his groin. Elidibus is unnaturally smooth against her, unmarked as an infant to betray a body made rather than born.

She can only guess at the places he’s been hurt. What could lead an Ascian to “take his leave”. So she marks every vulnerable place—sucking hard enough to bruise. 

He _will_ have something to remember her by, even if just for a while.

Above his beating heart. Across the throat. Along the collarbone for places beyond reach, thumbing at space between his ribs as she trails down and down and down.

His voice stutters, incoherent, and he is hers to direct.

***

fingertips dimple thighs he parts her sex with his tongue winds inside slick desperate tasting she folds one knee over his shoulder the other latched behind his neck Elidibus confident in his own gravity has underestimated hers plummeting from the heavens enveloped by surge and storm she has his hair curled around her fist offers no release wants to be worshipped like his god pushing deeper she shouts heat rippling up through her belly arching her back she tells him again _SHOW ME_ and he does

***

his teeth graze her nipple lips closing instead (a deliberate gesture) he flounders for the surface for air as physicality or loneliness or momentary insanity plunge him into her instead diving through arousal he’s inspired _are you here for **me** Emissary_ she asks and the words sound obscene enough to make him whimper the Warrior laughs nails dragging along his shoulder blades as she insists

_then come_

***

It occurs to her, later, that he has exchanged her pain for his own.

***

They lie dazed beside each other. Elidibus offers no smile, dares neither speak nor move. 

In this quiet, darkening room the Warrior finds herself hesitant once more to touch him.

“May I?” she asks softly, and when he looks at her there is something searching in it. Something uncertain.

He shuts his eyes. Inclines his head.

She tucks a stray hair back from his forehead. Lingers at his temple.

“What is this to you?” he whispers at last, unmoving.

It takes several moments for her to find her answer.

“You’re the only one to check if I was well,” replies the Savior of Eorzea at last. “That means something.”

Nothing, for several moments.

Then his hand layers over her own and closes there.

“I’m glad,” says the Ascian, and perhaps he even means it.

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said before, this was written for a Valentine's Day fic exchange. The discord where this took place is _Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Bookclub_ , and I'd like to take a moment to express how unspeakably grateful I've been to have found this group. I'd been looking for a writing and analysis-focused community for some time, but as far as I was aware most existing spots catered to RP. On top of that, there was some real anxiety for me over what kind of atmosphere I'd be stepping into. Would people embrace friendly debate on different interpretations of lore? Could everyone continue enabling even when their favorite and least favorite characters didn't align? I didn't know what to expect, and oh my god did this discord surprise me in the best way.
> 
> When someone is feeling down members rush to offer advice, encouragement, and strategies. During attempts to analyze tricky parts of the game, atmosphere remains fun as we struggle to remember details from ARR or compare translation notes. While we have clusters focused around certain preferences (Heavensward, Ascians, Garleans, Scions, etc.) we like to cheer each other on and throw pretty artwork around regardless to help boost that passion. On top of that, the mods are unbelievably thoughtful, fair, available, and transparent. They make sure focus stays on building each other up while having appropriate boundaries to preserve a healthy, positive space. They have truly earned the trust of their community.
> 
> If you're looking for fresh inspiration and a positive, reliable environment I absolutely recommend hopping over! It can be found [here](https://discord.gg/bNaqRtc).


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